Akira
by Altair's sister
Summary: This is a short story about a depressed vampire. Extensive knowledge of Vampire Knight is not required to be understood.


**I know it's been forever since I wrote something from Vampire Knight, but this actually only really references it lightly.**

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Have you ever just wanted to die?

Have you ever sat down and thought about how the dark abyss of death would be better than anything life has to offer?

My name is Aquila. I am hardly special, with short red hair and soft blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. I'm tall, not particularly bulky or busty, and my cheeks are dusted with little freckles which have claimed their position there since I was a child.

No, I'm not very special, unless you count my species, for you see, I am a vampire. I am a class B vampire, more commonly known as an aristocrat. I was born to a rich mother and a powerful father, but I grew up with a nanny.

Mother and father have always expected me to be perfect, but I'm clumsy. I can't control my strength and speed, and I break expensive items often because of it.

As all aristocrats do, I have a unique power. My power is morphing my body and mimicking other people's appearances, but I have little control over it, and when I experience powerful emotions, I change without realising.

My father strikes me across the face as my skin turns an odd shade of purple.

"Control your power, child!" he spits, looking down on my cowering form. Mother looks at me from the corner of the room disdainfully; as if it's my own fault he's hurting me.

My ears become pointed, like an elf, and I hide them under my hands, willing them to return to normal. My traitorous body finally relents and my ears return to normal, and just in time.

"Good," huffs my father as he turns away, the strong metal which had encased his fist being absorbed back into his skin. I shiver and look to mother again, she simply stares back silently.

I don't even cry any more.

These crippling feelings of miserableness and guilt have taught me that I cannot cry my feelings away.

And so, I have adapted.

I've tried to end it so many times, to put a stop to this worthless failure I call my life, but killing a vampire isn't easy.

I can put a gun to my head and fire, but the hole will close as soon as the bullet is through.

I can take a knife to my belly and spill my intestines like an open packet of gummy snakes, but my cursed heart will continue beating, new organs will grow and force the old ones out of my body, closing the hole behind it like a door.

The only thing which I gained from it was pain. The kind of pain you can only feel when you try to kill yourself.

I pick myself up off the floor and stalk down the hallway, opening the mansion's doors and closing them behind me. Mother watches the whole while.

I step out into snow. It's always snowing in Japan. My feet make deep impressions in the cold powder with every step, but I don't notice the cold biting into my skin.

Why should I? I'm a vampire.

I walk further into the snow, towards the dense trees which rim our property. I stumble through them, my nails shifting between long and sharp and almost disappearing. My hair lengthening, and as it swishes, I can see it flicker between red, green and black.

I walk all night and well into the morning. My throat is raw, and my eyes are probably changing through fifty shades of red as my body begs for nourishing blood.

Everything looks like it's in slow-motion. I see a squirrel darting up a tree, a deer bolting away, and I swallow, trying to soothe my burning throat.

I smell something sweet, something which causes my fangs to grow, my nails to sharpen. I groan and lick my lips as the scent swirls in my nostrils, begging me to come closer and have a taste.

I peek out of the tree line as more of the delectable smell drifts into my nose.

Then I see her.

She's tall and slender, with an athlete's body, and she's wearing a singlet and shorts, jogging tirelessly by the tree line.

Maybe it's the long, golden hair bobbing behind her in a ponytail, or maybe it's her bright, pale blue eyes, but she looks exactly like the girl I had to leave behind in England.

My mouth waters as I think of how accepting she was of my true nature, and how sweet her blood tasted on my lips.

Of course my parents didn't approve. They want me to marry a rich, powerful vampire and bear strong children, and they hate that I'm a lesbian.

I tear my eyes away. It's my fault that my parents hate me. If I liked men, they would be happy. If I were a proper lady who didn't make so many mistakes, they would love me.

I skirt around the edge of the trees, just out of sight. I don't look at the delicious woman, because the pain of hunger is what I deserve for being such a failure.

The sun beats down on my back, as my hair turns the same scarlet as my eyes probably are, rather than the bright ginger it normally is.

The hunger I feel is like a beast, ripping and tearing and feeding and growing inside me, tearing my mind apart with a need for blood.

I walk all through the day. I think of Katroina, the girl from England, and I think of my parents.

I smile.

My mind fills with fondness as I think of Katroina, and then bitterness as I think of my father. My nails lengthen, now they're the length of my forearm, and deadly sharp.

I can see a building towering above me, a well-crafted building of white brick. My fangs are too big for my mouth now, and poke my chin as I smell life.

I move closer to the building. It's huge, almost as big as the mansion. I can smell the traces of life stronger, but they're still faint. There are only two people here, and I can smell their youth.

I follow one scent with my eyes shut. It's a little sour, and I smell spice. I move even closer and I suddenly recoil instinctively.

As I get closer, I can smell the tell-tale metallic scent of a vampire hunter.

And I smile.

I can end it now; I can finally leave this world, this hell-on-earth. I have tried nearly everything, tried to kill myself in so many ways, but the only thing I have never been able to do is use a vampire hunter's weapon.

I break into a run, my heart beginning to pump in my ears. More snow had fallen through the day, and my feet sink in, almost to the ankle, crunching beneath me. I don't try to be quiet, I want to see this vampire hunter, and I want him to kill me.

The smell is suddenly incredibly strong, it's surrounding me like fog, and I feel something cold touch my head through my hair.

"Don't move, vampire," spits a voice behind me. It's male, a young adult - my age. I don't feel anything now. Not the worthlessness, not the sadness, or the guilt. Nothing.

I disobey and turn around. He narrows his eyes and now I see the gun pointed at my head.

His short, messy hair is as silver as the moon, with cold violet eyes staring at me unwaveringly.

The emptiness I feel forces my body to change back to its normal appearance, and I slowly lift my hand and lower my glasses. My vision doesn't change much. I drop the glasses and the sound of them hitting the dirt is like thunder in my ears.

I can see protectiveness, in the way he stands, prepared for a fight, and in the tension of the arm holding his gun. He's protecting the humans I smelt before, I know it.

I will for my nails to grow, and they become like claws again. His finger tightens on the trigger and I smile in acceptance and relief, closing my eyes and waiting for death.

I am not disappointed.


End file.
